


Those Resurrected Feelings

by aleera21



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 01:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14438778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleera21/pseuds/aleera21
Summary: This story is set during series 8. I kept as canon as possible, but there are a few small tweaks to the timeline.





	1. Chapter 1

“It was an accident,” Lister offered, lying through his teeth.

“An accident?” Rimmer snapped, clearly not believing a word of it. “You poured a whole tube of it over me, you disgusting, rotting, fetid piece of congealed monkey-vomit.”

“Oh, at last you’re talking to me. I knew we’d make it up.”

Lister forced a cheeky grin and then buried his head behind his magazine. It hadn’t been an accident. And he felt worse about it than he was letting on. Covering Rimmer in sexual magnetism virus in a prison full of deranged psychopaths had seemed funny when he’d first thought of it. However, he’d regretted his actions when the prisoners swarmed Rimmer. He’d not thought it through. He’d not considered the ramifications. Rimmer could barely defend himself at the best of times. Against such a group, he didn’t stand a chance.

True to form, rather than face the danger, Rimmer had legged it, and as soon as a suitable opportunity arose during the pursuit, Lister had stepped in to help. He’d sent the prisoners on a wild goose chase in the wrong direction, giving Rimmer the opportunity to find somewhere to hide until the virus wore off. Because, if there was one thing at which Rimmer excelled, it was finding ingenious places to cower.

Even now, Lister didn’t know where Rimmer had spent those long hours. When he’d returned, shortly before lights-out, he’d looked weary and angry, but not traumatised, so Lister assumed he’d not run into any trouble. At least, that’s what he preferred to think. Guilt would have consumed him had he thought otherwise. He wanted to make it up to Rimmer, but he didn’t know how. Then inspiration struck.

“Hey, man. You’ve pulled a few good pranks on me in the past too.”

Rimmer sniffed. “No, I haven’t. Name one. Name one time I’ve done anything so smegging awful to you.”

“Well, not you you. I mean the other you.”

“The hologram me? The dead me?” Rimmer strode to his bunk and flopped onto the mattress. “Wonderful! Because, of course, we all want to hear more about him.”

For some reason, Rimmer wasn’t taken with the idea there was another version of him running around in the universe. Lister couldn’t decide if that was because the other Rimmer was dead or if it had more to do with the fact that the other Rimmer was currently playing the part of action hero and all-round great guy, while this Rimmer was stuck in The Tank.

“We were together for years.” He leaned over the edge of the bunk and wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ve got some great stories.”

“How lovely for you,” Rimmer said, with unveiled snark. “But I don’t want to hear them.”

Lister started telling the story anyway, and from the quiet stillness emanating from the lower bunk, he knew Rimmer was listening.

***

The stories became a regular part of their evenings. It was as good a way as any to pass the time after lockdown. Lister regaled Rimmer with tale after tale, from polymorphs to simulants, and Rimmer would offer comments along the way, mostly remarking on his counterpart’s bravery and wit. Somehow, in Rimmer’s mind, his doppelganger’s weasly acts became feats of resilience. And slowly, as the days passed, Lister began to feel some of the old camaraderie again. It wasn’t exactly the same as before, but it was as close as he was likely to get, unless the new Ace got bored of the hero lifestyle and found his way back to them.

“You liked him, didn’t you?” Rimmer murmured at the end of that night’s story. “You liked him, but you don’t like me. Even though I’m me—him.”

“It’s not like that, man. In mean, him and me, we bonded, didn’t we? It took time. You’re like he was at the start. All that shared experienced is... gone. It never happened between us.”

“You’d rather it was him here now. If he walked through that door this minute, you’d pick him over me, even though he’s a stiffy.”

There was something in Rimmer’s tone that set Lister’s nerves on edge. He couldn’t name it. However, he instinctively knew he had to tread carefully.

“It’s not as simple as that. But I wouldn’t just blow you off, Rimmer. I mean it. You were gonna join us. Okay, so we didn’t make it off Red Dwarf, but you’re still part of the team now.”

“You miss him though.” The words were wistful, and Lister judged that whatever conflict he’d sensed a moment ago had passed.

“Yeah. I do. He was a complete and utter goit at times, but I miss him.” He chuckled. “In fact, after he left, I even had a dream about kissing him.”

“What!” There was a bang, followed by a pained umph as Rimmer shot upright too violently and whacked his head on the bottom of Lister’s bunk. “Are you saying that you and me—him—were... were...”

“No! Smeg, no! There was nothing like that going on. It was after he left, and, like I said, it was only some stupid dream. It didn’t mean anything. Dreams are weird, aren’t they?”

Lister wished he’d never mentioned it. He’d thought it would give them both a laugh and lighten the mood, but it had done the exact opposite. Even as he’d spoken the words, he’d wanted to take them back. It was too personal, and too recent. Kryten’s insane Rimmer Experience ride had made him temporarily smegged off at Rimmer again, but that annoyance hadn’t lasted long. Now, whenever he thought of Rimmer—his Rimmer—he experienced an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, and a longing he tried to tell himself was just about missing his friend.

In addition to all of this, he found himself suddenly and fervently hoping that this Rimmer wasn’t now recalling how Lister had, only recently, declared that Rimmer’s todger was better looking than a French movie star. Why that conversation had come back into his mind now, of all times, was beyond him; however, he prayed trains of thought weren’t catching.

Silence fell over the cell. It was a silence pregnant with words unspoken, and it lasted until Lister finally slipped into a fitful slumber.

***

Rimmer lay awake long after Lister had started his process of alternate flopping and snoring. It didn’t help that his erection wouldn’t abate, but he was determined not to do anything to deal with the issue, not considering what had caused it in the first place.

What the smeg was wrong with him? Lister and him doing the horizontal tango? The idea was preposterous. Lister was disgusting. He trimmed his toenails with his teeth, for smeg’s sake. And yet, there’d always been something there. Something Rimmer had buried in the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind. Something never to be confessed, let alone acted upon.

That resolution had been easy to maintain in the past. Lister had always hated him. It kept things simple, clear-cut. But now this future version of Lister had come along, with his stories and his camaraderie. The way he spoke to Rimmer was the same in some ways, but different in others. More important was the way he talked about that other Rimmer. There was fondness in his voice as he described their various adventures, and it filled Rimmer with a confused blend of jealousy and longing.

He would have liked to have said he didn’t have a clue what that longing meant, what it represented, but he could hardly maintain that pretence with his shorts tented. All it had taken was the mere mention of a kiss to make him harder than a sheep-shagger let loose in a farmer’s field. At least Lister hadn’t seen his reaction. That would have been the ultimate humiliation.

Rimmer sucked in a breath and steeled himself. He could overcome this if he tried. The trick was not to let on that anything had changed, that anything was wrong. He just had to act natural and do nothing to reveal his deeper thoughts and feelings. He’d treat Lister the same way he always had. How hard could that be?


	2. Chapter 2

Several days passed. Neither of them mentioned what had been said that night, and Lister resumed his storytelling as if nothing had happened. Or rather, almost. Next up should have been the psi-moon, but under the circumstances, he skipped that one in favour of something that wouldn’t sound like he was being kinky. He didn’t need Rimmer thinking he had some weird fantasy of seeing him manacled and oiled. Because he didn’t. Absolutely smegging not.

The day after this selective memory loss, they and the rest of the Canaries were sent on a mission. Red Dwarf had come across a derelict ship, and their job was to loot it. The official mission statement said they were looking for survivors, but they knew how to read between the lines by now.

Lister and Rimmer had branched off from the main cargo bay to check some of the smaller storage areas. So far, all they’d found were empty rooms and trashed compartments. After three million years—give or take—the place had been picked to the bone.

“You were making that up last night, weren’t you? About the gingham dress.”

Lister laughed. “I wish I was, man. But, no. It’s all the smegging truth. You were sick though, Rimmer. It wasn’t your fault. These things happen, don’t they?”

“Yes, they do...to me! They always seem to happen to me!”

“Hey, it’s not all bad. We’re nearly at the part where you get your hardlight drive. The guy who gives it you turns out to be a bit of a psycho, but you can’t have everything. Right?”

“Hardlight?”

“It’s a different kind of lightbee. It made you solid.”

“So, I could touch?”

“Yeah. After that, you were really no different from a living person, I guess. Except for the H.”

Lister was looking back at Rimmer, grinning, so he failed to notice the enormous hole in the floor ahead of him. He stepped forward, only his foot never hit the ground. Instead, it continued its descent. Lister waved his arms, trying to regain his balance. Unfortunately, gravity had decided to make him its bitch. The best he could do was spin, and grab for the edge of the opening. He caught hold, saving himself, but already his fingers were slipping. He needed help, and fast.

“Smegging smeg! Rimmer! Pull me up! Quick!”

Rimmer backed away from the hole, nostrils flaring. “I can’t. You might drag me down with you. I’ll go get help.”

“There’s no time for that. Don’t be a gimboid. Just give me a hand up.”

Rimmer shook his head and took another step back. He glanced toward the open door.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t do it, Rimmer!”

Lister’s fingers slipped another centimetre. The sheet-metal flooring was too smooth. There was nothing to grip.

One hand went, and Lister dropped further. He reached up to grab hold again, but he couldn’t find purchase. Already, he could feel the other hand sliding.

Smeg!

He glanced down. There was nothing but darkness below him. Impossible to tell how far he’d fall. But there was a distinct possibility the drop would be long enough to kill him. They probably wouldn’t even bother scraping his splattered carcass off the floor. They’d just leave him. Here lies Dave Lister, who met his flattened end because his bunkmate was a complete and utter smeghead with as much backbone as an amoeba.

Another centimetre’s slide. And another. He was hanging on by his fingertips—literally. One more second and—

He fell.

But then something tightened around his wrist, halting his descent.

“By Io, Listy, you weigh a smegging ton. You’d better cut down on those smuggled curries, miladdo.”

Rimmer’s tone was light, but his expression was strained. He reached out with his other hand and grasped Lister’s forearm. Then he tried to haul him up.

It was a difficult exercise. Rimmer was lying flat on his stomach and could only rely on the strength in his arms, while Lister could do nothing to assist until he was high enough to grasp the edge again. As rescues went, they probably wouldn’t be winning any awards for elegance. But points for form were the farthest things from Lister’s mind as he scrambled to save his life. In fact, aside from his fierce desire for survival, he only had one other thought: He didn’t leave me.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity spent dangling over the abyss, he was back on firm ground. He rolled onto his back beside Rimmer, both of them panting from their exertions.

When their breathing finally slowed, Lister was the first to stir. He clambered unsteadily to his feet and then held out his hand to help Rimmer up.

“Thanks, man. You really saved me bacon.”

When Rimmer took his outstretched hand, something sparked inside Lister. Rimmer’s palm was warm, and a little clammy from where it had gripped his wrist. They’d rarely touched since Rimmer’s return... resurrection... however the smeg you wanted to put it, and he’d forgotten how different it felt from touching Rimmer as a hologram.

As he tugged Rimmer to his feet, they stumbled towards each other. They were so close, and for the briefest of moments, Lister was sorely tempted to eliminate the remaining distance and—

“Rimmer. Lister.” Their comms crackled to life. “Get the smeg back here. We’re ready to depart.”

Rimmer jerked away from Lister like he’d been stung. He started to turn, but Lister caught his sleeve.

“Thanks for not leaving me. I mean it, man. Thanks.”

Rimmer flushed. “Well, I couldn’t, could I, Listy? I want to hear the lightbee story, and you can hardly tell it if you’re flatter than a pancake. I had no choice in the matter.” With that, he scurried out.

Lister remained frozen in place. He was still reeling, and not from having nearly fallen to his death.

If it hadn’t been for that communication, he seriously thought he would have done it. He would have leaned in and kissed Rimmer—this Rimmer. The Rimmer who had come through for him, despite the odds being heaped against it. The Rimmer who’d saved his life. And he wouldn’t have been able to blame it on a dream this time; it would have been real.

He wanted to be shocked at himself, maybe even a little aghast. After all, this was Rimmer! But oddly, he wasn’t appalled. Indeed, the more he thought about it, the less weird the idea seemed. Two thoughts revolved in his mind, and they were both what-ifs.

If he’d kissed Rimmer, would Rimmer have allowed it?

and

If Rimmer had allowed it, would he have kissed Lister back?

His comm crackled again. “Lister, get your arse here now or we’re leaving without you.”

Lister hurried to obey, but at the same time, his thoughts kept ticking over.

***

As the days passed, Rimmer began to think he’d imagined it. On that derelict ship, for a brief moment, he’d thought Lister was going to kiss him. But nothing had happened then, and Lister hadn’t said a word about it since. Their routine had returned to normal, and Rimmer wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed.

Relieved, he decided. Definitely relieved. He couldn’t deny the thrill of expectation he’d experienced as Lister swayed towards him, but at the end of the day, it wasn’t about him. He wasn’t the one Lister wanted; it was that other Rimmer. The Rimmer with whom Lister had shared so many adventures. The one he’d dreamed of kissing once before. A bolder Rimmer. A friendlier Rimmer. A Rimmer who’d done more with his life than flush out blocked chicken soup nozzles.

A Rimmer who wasn’t him.

And so, he tried to put the maybe-possible-almost kiss from his mind. He was this version of Arnold J. Rimmer, and this Rimmer simply wasn’t that lucky. This Rimmer was a total smeghead despised by everyone. He was not someone who would ever know love.


	3. Chapter 3

“So, off you went to be a hero, and that was the last time we saw you. I mean, until this you came back to life.”

It was over. Lister had now told every story he had from the last few years in deep space. Well, except for the psi-moon one. He still didn’t think regaling Rimmer with that particular tale was a good idea.

“Captain of a dimension-jumping ship,” Rimmer murmured. “Did you happen to see the cockpit? Were there many buttons?”

“Oh, tons of buttons. Smeg loads of buttons. Some were even illuminated.” Lister grinned, imagining the rapturous expression on Rimmer’s face. “Oh, and the ship’s computer had a crush on you.”

“I did pretty well for myself in the end then, eh Listy?”

“Yeah, man, you did. I was happy for you, even though I missed ya. But think—you’re out there somewhere right now, saving planets and rescuing princesses.”

“A hero.”

“A hero.”

Rimmer sighed. “I couldn’t do it. Hearing all these stories, I understand now why you like him and not me, why you act as if we’re different people. I could never do what he did. I’m not cut out to be a hero. I just don’t have what it takes.”

Rimmer sounded...sad, and Lister frowned.

“Of course you do. You saved me last week when I fell down that hole. That was pretty damn heroic.”

“Hardly.”

“No, it was. I thought so.”

“You did? You’re not just saying that?”

“You could have left me, but you didn’t.”

Judging this to be one of those conversations best conducted with eye contact, Lister swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and hopped down. He took a seat on the end of Rimmer’s bed. Rimmer huffed at the intrusion at first, but then he shifted his legs to make room.

“We’re friends, yeah?” Lister continued. He was tempted to reach out and place his hand on top of Rimmer’s, but he held back, unsure how such a gesture would be received.

Rimmer looked surprised. “Friends? Us? This morning you referred to me as a pustule of faecal matter on a rhinoceros’s backside.”

“Yeah. But in a jokey, friendly way.”

Rimmer looked unconvinced, so Lister finally did what he’d secretly wanted to do for days: he grasped Rimmer’s hand.

It wasn’t clammy this time, but it was as pleasantly warm as Lister remembered. He stroked his thumb back and forth over the soft skin, relishing the shiver that passed through him at the contact.

“Uh, Listy? What are you doing?”

Lister lifted his gaze in time to see the bob of Rimmer’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed heavily. Then his eyes moved higher, to Rimmer’s lips. He nearly groaned when Rimmer gave said lips a nervous lick with the tip of his tongue.

“I think,” Lister said slowly, making his decision, “I’m doing something I should have done a long smegging time ago.”

Then he leaned forward and kissed Rimmer.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but in reality the kiss was both wonderful and disconcerting. Wonderful because it felt good to finally admit the truth: that part of him, a part he’d tried hard to bury, had desired this for years. And disconcerting because, while Rimmer had made no attempt to push him away, he sat there rigid, the only sign of life the vice-like grip he now had on Lister’s hand. It was like he’d turned to stone.

Lister eased back. “Rimmer, I—”

“I’m not him.”

“What?”

Rimmer released Lister’s hand and shuffled back as far as the tiny bunk allowed. “I already told you. I’m not like him. I can’t be him.”

“Who?” To his infinite surprise, Lister was so randy from that brief kiss, he was having trouble keeping up with the conversation. All he could think of was the stiffness and heat centred in the vicinity of his groin.

“Me. The other me.”

Lister sighed, the crux of the issue finally becoming clear. “I thought that at the start. But it’s not true. Not completely. You may not be him now, but you could be. You have the potential. Anyway, that doesn’t matter to me anymore, man, because it’s not him I kissed, it was you. You’re the one I want. And smeg, Rimmer, do I want ya.”

“Do you really mean that, Listy? This isn’t a wind-up?”

“No, it’s not, and, yeah, I do. Perhaps we could try that again?” He edged forward.  
Rimmer gulped, but then nodded, and Lister made his move before the smeghead’s natural cowardice kicked in and he changed his mind.

This time was better. After a second’s hesitation, Rimmer returned the embrace and the kiss deepened. Somehow, without Lister’s conscious knowledge, they shifted position. The next thing he knew, he was lying fully on top of Rimmer, and they were doing a frantic groin shuffle as they groped at each other through their prison-issue clothing. There was nothing poetic about the scene, but when you’d been in denial for years and were finally getting what you desired, corny romance could take a smegging backseat, at least temporarily.

“Smeg, Rimmer,” Lister groaned when they broke apart to draw breath. “Next time we’ve gotta get undressed first.”

Rimmer gave an indecipherable moan.

“Next time I wanna feel you, man.” Lister trailed kisses along Rimmer’s jaw, ending with a firm lick over his scar. “I wanna touch ya.”

Rimmer moved his hands to Lister’s arse, forcing their fast-pumping hips closer together. “Smeg, yes.”

“I wanna taste ya.”

“Oh God!”

“And I wanna fuck ya.”

“Oh smeg! Oh, Listy!”

Rimmer came, and the expression of pure pleasure on his face sent Lister over the edge too. Soon, they collapsed together in a tangle of limbs and sheets.

They were going to have a lot of explaining to do on the next laundry run, but Lister didn’t care. This was the best he’d felt in ages. The prison sentence, the Canaries—none of it bothered him now. He and Rimmer would get through anything, as long as they did so together.

***

As Rimmer drifted in post-orgasmic bliss, a smile curved his lips. Maybe being resurrected 3 million years into deep space wasn’t such a bad thing after all. Maybe this was a second chance. If he could have this, with Lister, perhaps he could achieve other things too. He’d get out of the brig and then he’d get to work. He could still become an officer. He could still achieve his dreams. Up, up, up the ziggurat lickety-split.


End file.
